Stray
by Scatter Hart
Summary: One drunken kiss, and they all fall over. Arthur/Eames. Slash. Smut. Romance. Action. Whump.


Stray

He sat in the small dinghy. It was motionless in the smooth water, never ending and smothered in clouds of rolling mist.

Arthur was also motionless. He sat in his neat black vest and suit pants with his hands resting limply in his lap. He sat there for hours, mind blank and chest barely rising and falling with each breath.

He blinked, and the dream ended, waking him up with rough jerk and a headache.

~OO~

It was two months before the Fischer job that Arthur was walking through the doors of the club, regret and anticipation hot on his heels.

The music swallowed him whole, messing up his creaseless suit and scuffing his shoes. He walked slowly, agitated by the thick crowds gyrating and brushing up against him with every beat and spin. Arthur pushed between a gaggle of young woman to the bar, and ordered a beer.

An hour later he was on his fourth beer and he was feeling more than a bit tipsy. He was swaying gently with the music and his body felt warm and liquid smooth. He pulled in aggravation at his tie, wondering why it was trying to choke him.

The music swelled, it was getting later, so the club was getting fuller and Arthur was forced to glue himself to the wall to avoid being drawn onto the dance floor by hungry eyed woman, girls, and even men. The last, he found, was not as disturbing as he would have expected. He knew it was because he was drunk, but still...

Another beer and suddenly Arthur was aware of a figure leaning casually on the wall beside him. He jerked in surprise and the unknown man quickly grasped his arm to keep him upright.

Arthur shrugged him off awkwardly, not used to such casual physical contact. He looked slightly up into the other man's eyes and frowned.

"What'd you want?" He slurred, and huffed in annoyance at the slowness of his words. He took another gulp of beer, thinking it might help.

It did, a little.

"Oh, nothing, darling, just wanted to come and chat with a sweet little thing like you." The man's voice was deep and husky with traces of an accent that Arthur could not quite put his finger on.

"Fuck off." Arthur mumbled, sipping his beer.

The man chuckled. And he was so close that Arthur could almost feel it rolling down his chest. Arthur leaned toward him, feeling compelled, for some reason.

And then he shuddered and pulled back.

"I'm not gay." He stated suddenly, forcing himself to meet the other man's eyes. He didn't know why he said it, he just assumed that this guy was...

"Denial is only cute for so long, sweet heart." The man purred in his ear.

Arthur shoved him away, trying to ignore the tingle in his fingertips as they brushed against muscled, tattooed arms. He jerked back as if stung.

"Seriously," He slurred, "Back off."

"Why?" The man breathed and Arthur shivered as it fanned his face.

He was leaning toward the mysterious man again, and this time he couldn't pull back. His mind was muddled, but he thought this was what he was supposed to be doing, getting closer. Almost touching. When they were but a hairsbreadth apart, the man spoke up again. He sounded smug, knowing.

"Darling, you are a Stray among tabbies."

"Hunh?" Arthur mumbled incoherently. He was staring at that mouth. So tantalisingly close. His fingers grazed against a slightly sweat dampened shirt, an ugly thing, but at that moment he was exactly paying attention to colours and styles. Even the music seemed to have dimmed.

He cocked his head to one side, and raised on his toes ever so slight.

A single brush of his lips against the other man's and his blood was turning hot. Searing through him and scouring every inch of his body until he felt a groan slip between his lips.

The man chuckled, and it smelled of peppermint.

He leaned down to kiss Arthur more soundly on the lips, tongue darting out to run over them, seeking, tasting. Arthur found his hands were clutching the man's shirt, trying to drag him closer, force him to sink into him, but it was soon realised that he was too big, and could envelop Arthur easier than Arthur could him.

The thought made him giddy and he pushed instead of pulled. They fell flush against each other and Arthur didn't care that they were in public. He _really_ didn't care.

They kissed in fevered movements, tongues mingling and fingers seeking. Where Arthur was hot and hungry, his actions erratic yet slightly fumbling from too much drink, the other man was calm and sure, his grip was assured and he seemed to take his time.

Arthur felt a sound crawling up his throat and barely managed to suppress it.

The other man pulled back, and the lose of contact was like pulling a tooth, sharp and suddenly numbed. He stared dizzily at the smirk that was bestowed upon him. It made something coil in the pit of his stomach.

He tried to pull the solid man back to him but his arms were jelly, and barely managed to cling to his arms. God, he was pissed. He was swaying dangerously on his feet and the prickle of sweat tickled his forehead.

"Not now, kitten. Stray." The man said, smirking again, and his lips looked delicious. "You're drink off your ass and in no head space to demand anything."

"I'm fine." Arthur insisted, his mind skipping over the need to be insulted by the nicknames in favour of drawing the stranger back for more. He wanted more.

But it appeared he wasn't going to get it.

Anger bubbled and spat. The man was moving away, a tempting smile curling his lips. Arthur tried to follow him, but the man was moving too quickly through the crowd, like a ghost, leaving Arthur to stagger awkwardly along behind him until they hit the exit.

Arthur gulped in the cool night air like a drowning man. He stood wavering, before once more following the man. He was like a loyal dog, wanting nothing more than to trail after his master.

But Arthur was too drunk to care. He really didn't want to care.

It had been so long since he'd kissed someone like that, with the stirrings of lust making him numb to all else. Even the important things.

The pavement dipped beneath him and it was on by sheer force of will that Arthur stayed upright. When he got to his feet, the man was directly in front of him. Arthur flinched sluggishly, but quickly leaned back in.

"Where are you going?"

Arthur frowned.

"With you." He said after a moment, and with surprise. Hadn't it been obvious?

The man looked at him with an expression of pure amusement.

"Not tonight, Darling."

~OO~

Paperwork. Piles and piles of paperwork. And the research.

Arthur liked to work, he did, he gave his mind something to do when he had nothing else. He never had anything else. Work was his life. Day in and day out.

And he was alone, Cobb was gone to get a Forger, the Fischer job was their biggest, and most important yet. It meant that Cobb could go home, see his children, be happy. But where did that leave Arthur? He didn't have a family to go back to, he was alone. Alone but for his work.

He fell asleep at his desk again. The warehouse had been cold, but both his body and mind had been exhausted.

He woke to someone's hand roughly shaking his shoulder and a barely suppressed chuckle in his ear. Cobb.

"Stop." He growled, and blinked his eyes open.

His cheek was smushed against a pile of papers and he could almost taste the ink through his skin. He felt like shit. Head pounding, back and neck aching, even his legs were cramps from sitting stiff in one position for too long.

Arthur sat up with a grown, uselessly rolling his neck to ease the tension. Fingers suddenly curled over his shoulders, at the base of his neck, and flexed. Arthur sank into the massage for but a moment, and then he as jerking out of his chair, staggering as his sleep numbed feet slipped under him, and walked a few steps from the two men watching him with amusement.

One was Cobb. The other was...very familiar.

But Arthur, quickly blinking the sleep from his eyes and trying to stem the flow of adrenaline, extended his hand to the man smirking at him. Handsome, arrogant, and gaudily dressed.

Arthur's face turned pink with humiliation. He tried to cool it, but his embarrassment was so great that even his heart seemed to thunder deep in his chest.

Piercing grey eyes watched him, like a predator, knowing, smug. Arthur scowled, allowing the illusion of anger rather than discomfit to show.

Eventually the man stuck his own hand out. Palm against palm, tingles shot up Arthur's arm and he quickly let go, bristling. He didn't like this. Didn't like to be caught off guard. He forced calm hands to smooth down his vest and straighten the cuffs of his shirt.

"Arthur," Cobb said distractedly, as if his mind had instantly wandered elsewhere, it did that a lot these days. "This is Mr Eames, our forger."

~OO~

The Fischer job was over. A messy, yet wonderfully done job that still had Arthur reeling weeks after they'd woken up from the drug induced slumber.

But now his life was settled. It was dull, and boring, and Arthur kept his mind occupied with work. He'd applied for a job at a bank. Numbers, he was good at numbers. But that didn't mean he liked them.

Every day he went to work, save weekends, and he sat at his neat, proper desk and worked. And worked. And worked.

He grew numb after the first month. He liked the money, but had nothing to spend it on. He liked the routine, but longed for something more. His apartment was empty and cold every night. He often thought about the Fischer job, it was a way to pass time. Sometimes he would clean his guns. Others he would simply plonk down in front of the TV and stare blankly at whatever happened to be on. He grew to hate Grey's Anatomy. 1:00. Every. Fucking. Morning.

Yet still he watched it. Sleeping only several hours or so and then showering, eating, and getting dressed for work. His suit was always pristine, just the way he liked it. Although one day he found himself longing to don a pair of trashy jeans and a sweater, just to show the other suits at work.

But he never did. Because life was about routine and control and restraint. At least, Arthur's was.

And then one night he found himself sitting beside the suitcase. The silver one. A moment later he was hooked up, he finger depressed the button. He did not feel his body spill from the couch and onto the floor in a mess of boneless limbs and muscle.

~OO~

He sat in the small dinghy. The mist clouds were thick and oppressive.

Arthur curled his hands into fists, knuckles turning white. He sat in his neat black vest and suit pants. He sat there for hours, mind blank and chest barely rising and falling with each breath.

And he couldn't think. Because this, this was all that his mind could come up with. There were no mazes, or projections or emotions. Only the dull ache somewhere behind his ribs that felt eerily like regret.

He blinked, but the dream did not end. Not until he stood, and let himself fall into the still, opaque waters beyond the edges of the dinghy.

* * *

Well, that was fun.

I've never tried writing smut/slash/romance before. So hopefully this is a good start :)

I shall try to update soon, if...if anyone wants to read more...?

I promise there will be sexiness soon. I promise.


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